


White Flag

by youbuggme



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, M/M, Mental Instability, POV Alternating, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-22 03:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youbuggme/pseuds/youbuggme
Summary: This place had been more than a vacation home. It had been their reprieve from everything. Any arguments they had in the outside world faded away the second they stepped inside. It had been Gabriel’s idea.“I’m done fighting, Jack,”he had said, exhaustion weighing down on him.“I can’t keep going like this or I’m going to crash and burn.”With a heavy sigh, decision had filled Gabriel’s eyes, locking them with Jack’s.“Let’s just leave it all outside. No more fighting, no more arguing. Just for a little, while we are here. We can forget the rest of the world for one night, can’t we, Jackie? We deserve that at the very least.”Jack had nodded his head all too eagerly. This was the first time inmonthssince they were able to get away together. He didn’t want to waste what little time they had.“No fighting, no arguing,”Jack agreed willingly, drawing Gabriel closer, tangling their fingers together.“Just us.”The smile on Gabriel’s face had made Jack’s heart race. Now it only made it hurt.“Just us.”
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Ani, Fire and Luke who read this over for me <3 I love ya!!
> 
> I've had this idea for a while and I have the next two chapters written and being reviewed. Ideally, I wanted a few more chapters written before I started posting but I've read this over twenty times and I just need to get it out of my files. Hope you enjoy!

Zurich was falling. Jack’s ears were still ringing as he dragged himself up to a sitting position. Cement chunks, broken pieces of rebar and shattered glass littered the floor. He felt the pin-pricks of needle-like shards all over his back; his ribs were broken, the sharp pain muted under the layers of panic and fear that flooded his system. Zurich was falling, but that all seemed distant to the pounding in his heart that told him he needed to run. He needed to find  _ Gabriel. _

It should have been impossible to move; there was glass embedded in his skin and it tore the muscles with each movement. His leg was crushed beneath a block of concrete, the bones shattered. A piece of rebar was pressed tightly against his left arm, the rusted, sharp edge embedded into the floor  _ inches _ from his own chest. He was in enormous pain, but years of fighting and violence and a nasty concoction of  _ whatever-the-fuck  _ they pumped into him all those years ago made it easy to ignore what would’ve paralyzed anyone else. 

It was a struggle to remove all the debris and destruction off of him, even more so to get himself up in a halfway-crouch before he realized his broken leg was  _ not _ going to hold him. Crawling it was then. He hadn’t done that since the Crisis. 

He didn’t have time to think about it as he set forth, trying to remember where he was, what he had been doing before the ceiling fell on his head. It was coming back to him slowly, in disjointed and shattered fragments.

Gabriel had stormed into his office livid, his face contorted in anger. They had been screaming at each other. That seemed to be all they did nowadays. He couldn’t remember what they had been arguing about, the words were a garbled, tangled mess in his head. In truth, they were probably arguing about a million things. Jack remembered Gabriel snarling with his face twisted in rage, turning heel and slamming the door behind him. Jack had contemplated following him, dragging him back so they could  _ talk _ ; they hadn’t had a civil conversation in months. In his indecision, the walls around him quite literally crumbled and collapsed. 

_ Gabe _ , his mind reminded him.  _ You have to find Gabriel. _

He had stormed away from Jack not even a minute before the explosion. He couldn’t be far, though Jack wished he was. Perhaps that would mean he was safe. Better than the uncertainty in Jack’s gut that  _ pushed _ him forward, nudged him to keep moving, keep searching. 

Smoke and ash clouded his vision, faded outlines and black spaces making it difficult to see, difficult to know  _ where _ he was going. All he hoped was that he was getting closer to Gabriel. He would know what to do; he would know how to get them out of here. Whenever Jack was lost, he had  _ always  _ turned to Gabriel. Now would be no different; he just had to find him. 

_ Please be okay. Goddamnit, please be okay.  _

Jack didn’t know how long he had been searching. It could have been minutes or hours. Time didn’t follow the natural rhythm, or perhaps his distress had begun to turn manic. Jack couldn’t tell; all he could think was that he had to find Gabriel, make sure he was safe. They could survive this, they had to. Half-blind, surely bleeding out and fueled with raw desperation, he pushed forward.

It was like a moment of clarity when Jack rounded the corner; his vision returned to him, eyes burning as everything rapidly came back into focus in sharp, hyper-detail. It took him a moment to realize what he had stumbled across, what he was looking at.

There he was; Gabriel propped up against a large slab of concrete, his head bowed down to his chest, arms resting unmoving by his sides. A thick piece of rebar was impaled through his abdomen. Red pooled around him.

Jack was moving without thinking, tripping over the debris and rubble to get to him.  _ I have to save him _ .  _ I can still save him. _

Despite the fires blazing around them, Gabriel was cold to the touch. Jack shook his head in disbelief, tears welling up in his eyes as an awful sound tore through his throat. With one hand, he searched Gabriel’s neck for a pulse point; with the other, he grabbed his limp hand, the fingers stiff and unmoving. He squeezed the other’s hand tightly, hoping to get a response.

_ Please move, please move. _

“Gabe, come on. It’s me. Look at me. Come on, Gabe _ , please _ ,” Jack said repeatedly, his voice weak and shaky. He could feel the hysteria kicking in, his breathing becoming irregular but he couldn’t stop the panic coming over him, overwhelming his senses. 

This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be happening.

Gabriel was supposed to be untouchable, indestructible; he had survived SEP, survived the Crisis. They both had. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. They paid their debt to society, put their lives on the line. Gabriel was supposed to be safe, unharmed. 

He ripped his hand away from Gabriel’s, hastily wiping the tears blinding his vision, but it was no use, his vision was fading again, quickly growing cloudier, darker. 

_ No, no! I need to see him! _

He gave up the search for the pulse as he took Gabriel’s downturned face in both hands, cradling his jaw, his cheeks, rubbing his thumbs along the scarred skin, the bristle of his goatee, lifting his face up and-

A choked sob left his throat as he saw dull, lifeless eyes looking back at him, dried blood resting on his lips. His mind refused to see—to understand—what was right in front of him. 

“Gabe, please. Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. I can’t- Gabe, Gabe,  _ Gabe _ .”

He was like a broken record now; couldn’t stop saying his name. Each time he got no response it was like a knife stabbing him in the chest. He got more and more desperate, hands growing more insistent as he shook the body before him. 

Maybe he was just  _ sleeping _ . Rationally, he knew otherwise, but he had to cling to some sort of desperation, some sort of way to undo this. Gabriel couldn’t be...he couldn’t even bring up the word. Saying it,  _ thinking _ it would make the reality too real, too harsh. Jack’s heart was already shattered, his common sense thrown out the window. 

Wildly, he thought he’d rather die in stubborn ignorance than live on with the harsh reality. 

Even with no response, Jack couldn’t let him go, curling around Gabriel as if to protect him from any further damage. He had no mind for the dangerous piece of rebar sticking out of the man before him, barely felt it as it pressed against his shoulder in his effort to crowd closer, bring warmth to Gabriel’s cold body. 

“Please, please, please.”

He was crying now, tears openly running down his face. His eyes were open and he couldn’t see much of anything now. Just shapes and dark patches. His fingers knotted themselves into Gabriel’s hoodie, sticky with red but Jack ignored it. He anchored himself in place and refused to move. Refused to leave.

They always had each other’s backs, even in the worst of it, even with all their fights. No matter what happened, no matter the words they said to each other, Jack always would have Gabriel’s back, always stand by his side.  _ ‘But you don’t fucking trust me.’ _ Gabriel’s harsh last words rang in his ear.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whimpered, moving impossibly closer, almost as if he were trying to crawl inside Gabriel. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,  _ I’m sorry. _ ”

_ Too little, too late _ . 

There was a gaping hole in his chest now. Metaphorical to Gabriel’s literal one. His mind was spinning; too many regrets, too much guilt, swallowing him up. If he had just kept Gabriel in his office for one more minute—a measly sixty more seconds—maybe he’d still be breathing. 

But it was too late. He was always too late. And now, he’d lost the most important person in his life, his partner, his best friend, his other half. Over half his life had been dedicated to being by Gabriel’s side, being each other’s lifeline. But now Gabriel was gone and Jack felt every part of himself go with him. There was no point in moving on, in  _ living _ . Not without Gabriel, not with Jack now a shell of an existence, all life drained out of him.

He closed his eyes tight and pressed his face into Gabriel’s shoulder, muffling his sobs. He didn’t know how long he stayed there, how long he  _ would _ stay there. 

_ “Shhh, shhh, now,” _ a voice whispered mockingly in his ear; rough, almost mechanical, a hint of familiarity just a tad too distant for Jack to recognize from where, “ _ no tears from the Strike-Commander. This is your fault.” _

Jack reeled away, eyes flying open. Instead of the ruined Zurich base or the faded vision of muted swirls, he saw a red tinted world of sandy deserts. Before him, Gabriel still rested, body still impaled but he moved now, head lifting without Jack there to help. Instead of Gabriel’s lifeless face, Jack was faced with a stark, bone-white mask of a barn owl, dark holes where eyes should be drilling holes into him. 

_ “This could have all been avoided if you had just listened to me.” _

“No!” A new panic was rising in his chest. He went to reach for Gabriel but before his hands could grab any part of him, he faded away into smoke and vapor. “No, no,  _ no! _ ”

Sharp talons dug into the flesh of his neck, yanking him to his feet. He scrambled to find purchase, a way to gain his balance instead of hanging solely by the deadly grip around his throat. There was pressure on the center of his back, cold gun metal pressed unforgivingly. The hard edge of a mask pressed into his shoulder, smoke drifting around him. 

_ “Right here, Jack.” _

* * *

Pain erupted from a wound long healed. Panic clogged the old soldier’s throat as he struggled with his sleeping bag, frustration growing as it twisted around him further until he started ripping it to shreds. His back was burning, flaring up in pain and he needed to run, needed to get out, needed to-

Before he could sit up and throw on his visor, there was a firm, insisting pressure on his chest, cold hands on his face.

_ Dead hands, _ his mind immediately thought as his own came up and grabbed thin narrow wrists, ripping them away from his face.

“Jack,” a sharp, firm voice broke through his panic. “Jack,  _ stop _ .”

That voice was not Gabriel’s nor was it Reaper’s. Adrenaline left his body immediately and he went limp under the body on top of him. His breathing was still ragged, still uneven and he struggled to bring it back to an even, measured pace. He tried to hold back his trembling, fighting to regain control, but the more he struggled, the more his body wouldn’t cooperate. He was coming apart at the seams; the feeling of Gabriel’s lifeless body in his hands, the earth shattering ache in his chest, all of it tearing him to shreds. 

“Breathe, Jack,” the voice—Ana—said above him. Her cool hands were back on his face, pressing against his forehead and cheeks. “You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” he rasped back. It was a lie and they both knew it. 

Ana didn’t say anything until his breathing was back to normal, his pulse returning to its normal rhythm. It was only then that she got off his chest and sat on the ground beside the shredded remains of his sleeping bag. 

“You were screaming,” she said, voice quiet, soothing, like she was speaking to a spooked animal. “Was it the same one as before?”

Jack didn’t want to speak, but he knew Ana wouldn’t leave until he did. “Close enough.”

He couldn’t see her. He still didn’t have on the visor, but he could see the blurry, dark shape of her perched beside him. He could  _ feel _ her eye on him, critical and searching. 

“You can’t continue on like this.”

“I know.”

Ana let out a frustrated sigh, clearly unhappy with his passivity. “You aren’t  _ sleeping. _ ”

“I get enough.” He had never gotten much sleep, not since joining the army at eighteen and resigning his existence to serving and protecting. “I’m fine.” Saying it again only made it sound less true. He had always been a shit liar and Ana had always been far too skilled at seeing the cracks in his composure. Her skill had only been out-matched by Gabriel. 

He saw Ana’s shape move, standing up to full height and moving away. The farther she went, the less her shape held until she blended into the gray and blurry world around him. He had to rely on his other senses to track her, his ear picking up the rustling of jars and tools. He knew what she was getting. Relief fell on him; melting the tension out of his bones, the promise of peace—however temporary—right there.

“Just this once,” she repeated the same sentiment she said every time she gave him the sleeping aid. 

“Just this once,” he repeated, knowing that it wouldn’t be the case. 

It was a simple syrup, thick and tasteless. She yielded and gave it to him three times before now. Each time it had brought him hours of dreamless sleep. He wanted it every night but Ana refused. She could say it was because the ingredients were difficult to get or having him so comatose was dangerous if their position was revealed, but he knew the truth was she didn’t want him to get addicted to it. Addicted to the numbness it brought, the blank wall it provided between him and everything that haunted him. The fog that would clog and suffocate the guilt and pain of Gabriel.

Ana came back from the blurry abyss, her figure growing firmer, more solid as she came closer. He followed the movement, though he knew his eyes were glazed and unfocused. 

He held his hand out expectantly when she approached, but there was hesitation as she held the glass vial away from him.

“Tomorrow you are leaving.”

Dread instantly replaced the relief in his chest. “Why-”

“You are useless like this. You need time to rest. Time to get your head on straight.” She crouched down before him, her cool hand cradling his face. “I won’t have you dying on me a second time just because you are too stubborn.”

“Our mission-”

“-can wait until you get back. You’ve waited six years, one week will be nothing.” Her voice was deceptively soft. There was no room for argument. “One week, Jack. Go and rest. Sort out your mind in solitude and decide.”

He didn’t know what she meant by that but he knew she wouldn’t let it go, wouldn’t let him do anything but what she wanted.

“Okay.”

He could hear the smile in her voice, his mind providing a distorted version from an era long past. “Good. We’ve been too busy planning and preparing to let us both reflect. We need time.”  _ You need time _ . 

He didn’t want to continue the conversation and held out his hand for the vial once more.

Ana relented this time, pressing the small glass container in his hands. 

“Remember your promise, Jack.”

He didn’t want to remember, but he nodded his head as he uncorked the vial. He poured it down his throat, ignoring its cool, nothing taste, eager to forget. Even if it was momentary.

* * *

Forty-eight hours later, Jack stood in front of a faded-red door halfway across the world. As the sun began to set behind him, he couldn’t help but remember a time the door’s ruby paint had been fresh and bright. The red-orange tint of his visor was a mimicry of its old appearance and he couldn’t stand to look at it long. 

It had been six years—probably more if he was being honest with himself—since he had last set foot in this apartment. He no longer had a key, but after a quick look under the ratted, faded door mat, he found the spare untouched by time. 

He held the metal key in his palm with unease. He would have thought the apartment had been sold immediately after his death, but evidently, that was not the case. The potted plant that had once sat beside the door was gone, but the cracked pot’s remains were still there and the little Halloween bats were still stuck to the door, time preserving them far better than the tape that initially held them in place.

It was a piece of his old life, preserved in a film of dust and old age. Just like him, really. Ana had told him to figure his shit out and Jack could think of no better place to do it. Or worse; he hadn’t really decided. It all sounded like a fine idea when he boarded the plane from Cairo to Los Angeles, but now that he stood before the door, he was unsure. 

Part of him wanted to leave, get on the next bus out of the city and land himself in the middle of nowhere until his flight back to Cairo in a week. That would be the easy thing to do. Maybe better for the storm rolling around in his head. It was safer and easier to lock down the hatches and weather the pain and destruction than to leave the windows and doors open and vulnerable. 

But, a small part of him, fragile and broken, wanted to open the door and get lost in what was. He could almost picture it now, closing his eyes and seeing that freshly-painted red door with the potted porthos spilling onto the porch. Halloween bats stuck to the door despite it being April. He could smell warmth and spices, drifting from the kitchen through the door. He wanted there to be a warm, sturdy embrace on the other side. 

It was that thought that pulled him from the memory as quickly as he fell into it, made that small part of him crack and nearly shatter. Everything else he’d be able to replicate. He could repaint the door, get a new plant, learn to cook...he could even bring someone new into his life, but that wouldn’t be the same. It would never be the same.

His hands clenched around the key, shaking. This was a mistake. Ana was wrong. There was no way he could get his head sorted. It was safe to say it had never been sorted. Maybe that concussion back in basic fucked him up for life. Maybe he was still knocked out and none of this was real. That would be the dream. 

A door opened on the landing below him, reminding Jack just where he was. This cozy little suburb in Los Angeles was safe and residential. It had been the reason  _ they _ had picked this as their little getaway house in the first place. Soldier: 76 had no business there, which was why Jack left everything of that identity locked away in a duffel bag slung across his shoulders. The only identifiable piece on him was his visor. 

Hearing the distant chatter of one of his neighbors sprung him into action. He could deal with his emotional crisis once he was behind closed doors.

The locks were rusted from disuse and difficult to turn. With a little more force than was probably necessary, Jack managed to unlock the stubborn door and pull himself inside. 

When he had last left the apartment, Jack had closed everything up with shutters to protect this little safe haven as much as possible. Time left it relatively unchanged, just a thick layer of dust and stuffy air.

Locking the door behind him and dropping his stuff by the door, Jack slowly made his way through the apartment. It was small, basic, never used for more than a few days at a time. A living room, kitchen, single bedroom with an attached bathroom and a balcony. It had been perfect at the time, a sweet little nest for lovers.

A pit opened up in Jack’s stomach at the thought. This had been a mistake, he reminded himself as he looked around, eyes narrowing on everything that reminded him of Gabriel: pictures in delicate frames, a blanket over the back of the couch his mother had made them, a small table in the corner with a worn deck of cards. It was a slew of mementos, all ranging from sentimental to daily necessities but Jack could only look at every item with an ache in his heart. 

He spent an hour traversing through the living room, examining each and every object but never touching. Everything had to remain timeless, undisturbed. This place was a single piece of history that Jack didn’t want tarnished, didn’t want ruined. He did the same maneuver through the kitchen, taking note of the outdated and moldy spices in their cabinet and the two dust-covered mugs abandoned to dry in the sink. 

When he had made his sweep of the main living area, his eyes turned to the single door leading to the bedroom. A new pain raced through his body, wrapping around his heart and squeezing with so much pressure it would surely pop. The last time he had been in that room, slept in that bed, it had been with Gabriel, when there was love in each other’s eyes instead of the hate that would fester in the coming days—no, minutes, after leaving the apartment.

This place had been more than a vacation home. It had been their reprieve from everything. Any arguments they had in the outside world faded away the second they stepped inside. It had been Gabriel’s idea.

_ “I’m done fighting, Jack,”  _ he had said, exhaustion weighing down on him.  _ “I can’t keep going like this or I’m going to crash and burn.”  _ With a heavy sigh, decision had filled Gabriel’s eyes, locking them with Jack’s.  _ “Let’s just leave it all outside. No more fighting, no more arguing. Just for a little, while we are here. We can forget the rest of the world for one night, can’t we, Jackie? We deserve that at the very least.” _

Jack had nodded his head all too eagerly. This was the first time in  _ months _ since they were able to get away together. He didn’t want to waste what little time they had.  _ “No fighting, no arguing _ ,” Jack agreed willingly, drawing Gabriel closer, tangling their fingers together.  _ “Just us.” _

The smile on Gabriel’s face had made Jack’s heart race. Now it only made it hurt.  _ “Just us.” _

Perhaps it had been part of the problem, bottling up all those emotions and acting as if everything was fine. If they had taken that time to talk instead, maybe, just maybe, this all could have been avoided.

He shook those thoughts away, burying the memory down with all the rest. 

Jack looked at the couch with consideration. Perhaps, he wouldn’t enter the other room, leave it locked away with the safe, happy memories it held. A mausoleum of better times. The weaker part of him needed to look inside, needed the reminder that it had been real.

He crumbled under the pressure and entered the room.

It was the same as he remembered it: a large king-size bed taking up most of the space with two nightstands hugging either side of the bed frame. Opposite of the bed was a long dresser with a mirror propped in the center. It was utilitarian, stripped of any frivolous things. The only touch of personality was a single photo on the nightstand on the side Jack used to claim. It was an old picture of Jack and Gabriel back when they first met in SEP. They were both young, reckless, and far more innocent then. 

Jack didn’t hesitate crossing the room and grabbing the frame, holding it close as he studied it. 

His face was much rounder then, still going through his first injections. His eyes were bright and his smile even brighter. His arm was wrapped tightly around Gabriel’s shoulders, his cheek nearly pressed right up against the other’s. Gabriel’s own face was  _ open _ , something Jack wouldn’t have thought when he had first met the man. However, after knowing him for years, seeing how Gabriel truly looked when he closed himself off, Jack could only see it as honest and open. His face was clear of a few scars he had yet to earn and his smile was reserved, secretive. 

He had to beg Gabriel to take this photo. Jack’s mother had requested it, wanting to see him and  _ ‘that boy you keep talking about’ _ . After an hour of begging and guilt-tripping— _ ‘Come on, Reyes, you are gonna break that poor woman’s heart. Are you that cruel?’— _ he finally managed to pull the other aside and snag the photo, even getting Gabriel to  _ smile _ ; a feat no one had managed until that point. There had been a bet going on. Gabriel had taken one look at the photo, rolled his eyes, then said  _ ‘Do I at least get a copy of this shit?’ _ Jack readily supplied him an actual, physical copy three days later. It was the same one that sat in the frame; the edges were worn and frayed from years of being carried around, hard ceases down the middle where it had been folded and held safely. Gabriel had kept it all that time.

Jack bit his lip hard, eyes clenched shut.  _ God, I miss him. _

Without thinking about it, Jack sunk down onto the bed, cradling the picture in his arms as if it were the most delicate thing in the world. So many years had passed since this photo had been taken, so many years of hardship and loss. Guilt and regret weighed down on Jack’s shoulders, threatening to crush him entirely. 

Setting the photo aside, Jack stood up from the bed. Without Ana and her sleeping potions or calming teas, Jack needed to rely on a different old friend. He made his way back to the living room, crouching by his previously discarded duffle bag. It contained a few sets of clothes, his gear, and enough supplies to last him a day or two. He dug around, hands wrapping around the cool glass of what he was looking for.

It wouldn’t be nearly as effective as the concoction Ana made, but a bottle of whiskey would work just fine to numb the pain. 

He uncapped the bottle and immediately downed three large gulps. His system would burn through the alcohol if he took his time with it. To get what he wanted, he had to down the bottle as quickly as possible; overload his system so he could get some success. It was halfway gone by the time he stepped foot back in the bedroom.

He could feel the effects already taking hold: tension unhooking its claws from his muscles, white noise filling his ears, any ambition he had not to disturb his home was gone as he slowly began to shed off his clothes, taking a lengthy sip from the bottle with each piece he removed until he was down to his boxers, visor, and the chain around his neck. 

Jack crawled onto his side of the bed, mindful to not disturb Gabriel’s side. Taking another lengthy sip, he turned to face the photo he had studied before. The ache was still in his chest, but the whiskey was burning it out until it was only a phantom of a feeling. 

Clumsy, numb fingers reached absently for the chain around his neck. Two half-sets of dog tags and a ring. His fingers drifted over the engraved words of the dog tags. He could barely feel the lettering but he knew them by heart. As his fingers fell on the ring, he pressed it against his skin. He only had half the set as well. Jack wondered if Gab-  _ Reaper _ carried the other half of these three belongings.

_ Probably not, _ he thought to himself, bile rising in his throat.  _ If it wasn’t lost in the explosion, he’d have long ago gotten rid of it. Maybe he hadn’t been wearing them at all. _ Jack wouldn’t blame him if he had, he should do the same. Take off the chain and chuck it out the window. Hell, some lucky kid could make a fortune on finding Strike-Commander Morrison’s dog tag from the Crisis. Gabriel’s would fetch a high price as well. Though, the tarnish from his Blackwatch career wouldn’t hold it to the same esteem, Gabriel was still the hero of the Crisis and Los Angeles would never forget him. This was Gabriel’s city, after all.

He had the ball-chain necklace off before he could think about it any further, holding the metal tags tightly in one hand. Reasonably, throwing them out would only raise suspicion. Throwing them out _ together _ would be leagues worse. Chucking them where no one would find them would be better. Though, Jack knew he wouldn’t ever be able to part with them. Not really. At the end of the day, he was still the same old sentimental fool Gabriel used to call him all the time.

Turning over on his side, Jack now faced the empty expanse of the bed. It felt far bigger without another body there. Gently, he laid the chain, dog tags, and ring in the middle of the spot that had once been Gabriel’s.

Sentimental fool, indeed. 

Polishing off the last of the whiskey, Jack dropped the empty bottle over the side of the bed before fumbling to remove his visor. Drunken sorrow rocked up against his emotionally exhausted mind, twisting around until unconsciousness pressed against him, forcing sleep to take over. Eyes mostly blind in the darkness of the room, Jack could only pretend the dark shadows were Gabriel, returning from some other part of the apartment to finally join him in bed. 

There was no warmth, no skin-on-skin contact, no weight of another person laying beside him, but he would pretend. Let himself drift off into another memory.

* * *

It had been years since Gabriel Reyes was alive, a few additional years since he had stepped foot in this quiet little suburb of Los Angeles. With Gabriel dead, Reaper took on the path instead, shifting through the night and hiding in the shadows. He drifted up the concrete steps of the apartment building before materialize in front of the flaking and faded red door. It had been Reyes’ idea to paint it red, Morrison had agreed willingly.

_ Morrison _ .

The name reminded him why he was wasting his time here. Shifting into smoke once more, he pulled himself through the bottom crack of the door and slipped inside. 

Years of disuse left the air stale. Reaper didn’t take the time or care to examine the remains of two dead men’s home. He stepped with purpose, avoiding the upturned duffle bag, though noting the pulse rifle and sidearm laid secure in its depths. As he approached the bedroom door, he withdrew his shotguns. It was time to end this. Finish the job. Put his mind at ease. Jack Morrison was supposed to be dead. Reaper would correct the error. 

He ghosted through the crack of the door. Undoubtedly, the hinges would creak if he tried to open them. Best put the old man down when he least expected it. Far more humane than he deserved but it was a sacrifice Reaper was willing to make. 

As he solidified on the other side of the door, shotguns raised and ready to pull the trigger, he was given pause.

Stripped of all of his gear and most of his clothing, Soldier: 76— _ Jack _ —laid bare on the bed. On the floor, where his clothing laid thrown about and disorderly, was an empty bottle.

_ Pendejo _ . 

Lowering his shotguns, Reaper drifted closer, leaning over the bed to observe the sleeping man. Curled up on his side, facing the expanse of the bed but sticking to only half of it. Anger boiled in Reaper’s gut as he turned his gaze to the other side of the bed. Not nearly as empty as it should be. 

He didn’t need to examine the objects much closer to know what they were.

Suspicion rose up in Reaper’s shoulders. There had to be something going on. Soldier: 76 had been a thorn in Talon’s side for nearly six years; there was no way he was getting stupidly sentimental  _ now _ . After what? After their confrontation in Giza?

Holstering his shotguns, Reaper drifted to the other side of the room, standing before the empty spot left for the man he used to be. 

Was this some ill-conceived trap? Was Ana lurking in the shadows? What was the end game here?

Puzzled, maybe more than a little curious, Reaper dematerialized; slipping out the sliding door that led to the balcony, through the miniscule cracks left in the shutter and repositioned himself to the next building over.

No, Jack Morrison wasn’t stupid. Woefully ignorant and naive, yes. Cripplingly weak and sentimental, absolutely. But stupid? Never. There was more going on here. More than what met the eyes. Morrison had always been sneakier than he let on, more underhanded and vicious than he’d let the public believe. But Gabriel knew better,  _ Reaper _ knew better.

So Reaper would sit and wait and strike later. 


	2. Chapter 2

Reaper, for the life—or un-life—of him, couldn’t understand what was going through the old man’s head. Jack Morrison had once been someone he could read like a book, but now Soldier: 76 was a blank wall; unreadable. Or, maybe, Reaper just lost his touch. Six years apart did that to even the strongest of couples and Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison were hardly even friends in their final moments.

Watching the apartment from his perch across the street, Reaper had been expecting some sort of display or show. Something to signal Soldier: 76 putting himself out there as bait. What other reason would he have to come to a place only they knew about? What was he trying to accomplish?

It had been bought under an LLC which acted for a non-descript trust account with the grantor’s names redacted. At the time, Gabriel Reyes had been adamant on keeping this safe haven secretive and went through a million complex legal loopholes to have their names as far removed from the property as possible. It had been fueled half by wanting a semblance of normalcy, half out of desperation and corroding paranoia. Not even Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes’ closest friends and confidants knew about it; not until after their deaths. In Gabriel Reyes’ will, everything had been left to Jack. Even at their worst, in the midst of considering divorce, the old Blackwatch commander never bothered to change it. Reaper wondered if Morrison had left everything to Reyes or if he had gone through the effort to leave everything to someone else, someone he _actually_ cared for.

Reaper pushed those thoughts away before a bubble of anger could surge forward. There was no point in getting muddled up in the emotions of a dead man. Reaper prided himself on remaining emotionless and calm. It was also a necessity. The nanites didn’t like strong emotional spikes. It caused his control to falter, his body to lose composure and slip away. Reaper was not going to let the past sway him. That’s probably what Soldier: 76 was hoping for, why he’d chosen this place, lured Reaper here.

But, alas, the shutters remained latched shut and locked in place. The soldier’s movements were contained inside the apartment, save for the morning after his arrival and the old man stocked up on some provisions and far too much alcohol. There was no mystery what that was for, as highly unprofessional and _sloppy_ as it was. Jack’s abuse of the bottle predated Gabriel’s death. The real mystery was _why_ if this was supposed to be a trap for Reaper.

As many signs there were signaling this entire set-up was a trap, there were twice as many cracks and faults, showing an entirely different, but equally troubling story.

The past few days of watching and observing had answered none of the questions bouncing around in Reaper’s skull. If anything, he had more. On the second day, after seeing Soldier: 76 not leave the apartment once after his little morning shopping trip, he had searched the block for any sign of back up. Jack and Ana had teamed up in Giza; it wasn't a stretch to assume they had stuck together afterwards. But, alas, Reaper had found nothing. Skepticism and suspicion coiled at the base of Reaper’s spine, forcing his hand in contacting Sombra for intel. Anything to shed light on this situation.

The hacker hadn’t found much. Then again, the reason Soldier: 76 was still around was because he had been difficult to track. Reaper had wondered if the old man even knew how to _use_ the tech on hand. Jack never had the patience for learning its nuances in the past, deferring to others for troubleshooting and sticking to older, outdated models; an old man even then, now he finally matched it with looks. Over six years on the run probably hadn’t made him anymore tech savvy. Probably still used outdated burners of 20 years ago, bouncing signals on the few remaining cell towers that hadn’t been destroyed during the Crisis.

Sombra had only been able to supply the plane tickets: one from the day prior leaving from Cairo and arriving in Los Angeles under a pseudonym and the return scheduled for seven days later. Quite lacking for what she usually was able to supply.

_“Maybe he’s taking a vacation,”_ Sombra said through their private comm link. Reaper could picture her now: feet propped up on her desk as she leaned as far back at her chair would allow. _“Old age must be getting to him. Bad knees due to a deterioration in the cartilage, according to his last medical report back in 20-”_

“Enough,” Reaper hissed, cutting her off. How or why she felt the need to dig through medical records nearly a decade old were of no concern to Reaper. Where she was getting the information and what others she had on hand would be a concern _for later_.

_“Hey now, no need to get all-”_

Reaper shut down the connection, not letting her finish. She’d continue to nudge, weasel and dig if he let her. She already knew too much and he didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. Besides, if it were truly important, Sombra was more than capable of overriding his comms as she had done time and time again.

Without Sombra’s annoying and perhaps hostile companionship, Reaper found watching the apartment holding his nemesis to be a rather dull affair. Whatever he had been expecting the old man to do, it was not seclude himself in such an _intimate_ place. Reaper didn’t want to travel down the avenue that he might’ve been _wrong_ about Soldier: 76’s intentions, that perhaps this _wasn’t_ a trap. That would be opening up an emotional can of worms he didn’t care for. There was nothing to reap there, only more fuel for his anger.

For the next couple of days, Reaper remained on his post in the distance. Gabriel Reyes had been an expert at covert reconnaissance missions and Reaper was just as good. The dead had all the patience in the world. Talon could go a few days without him, so long as they didn’t become nosey in his _extracurriculars._

He didn’t dare approach the apartment. Though there hadn’t been a trap the first night, Reaper was hesitant to rely on that. Between Jack and Ana, the mind games could be crazed and convoluted. There was no telling what was going through either of their heads. At least Ana had an excuse for it; being literally shot in the head gave allowance to insanity. Morrison didn't have that luxury.

If there were any two people to be Reaper’s downfall, it would be them. Ana had always been sharp and knew far more than she let on. She had a read on _everyone_. Reaper had no doubt her mind was running itself ragged in possible scenarios to bring him down. Reaper wouldn’t blame Ana, though. The fault there was on himself. Gabriel Reyes should have known better than to let so many people in, especially those as clever and observant as Amari.

Jack Morrison was another complication. More annoying, more troublesome.

There weren’t many regrets in Reaper’s life, but there was one that had been nagging at him for a while now, an irritation digging and nestling into the base of his skull.

He should have killed Jack Morrison long before Zurich. It would have made his life far easier, perhaps even preventing Reaper’s entire miserable existence. If only Gabriel Reyes hadn’t been so sentimental. The thought had been burning under his skin since the explosion, though it had settled into a barely-there smolder during the past six years the fire lay dormant. It was after Giza the flames were awakened, burning hotter than ever. The need to correct the mistake and remove Jack Morrison from the equation was stronger than ever.

But he failed in Giza, and hadn't anticipated Morrison and Amari to come together. That’s what he told his higher-ups and the annoying little hacker in his ear. Reaper must not have been convincing. Sombra wasn’t letting it go, whispering nonsense in his ear, and Akande even going as far as to _question_ his intentions. Reaper wouldn’t let those allegations stand. He couldn’t. Not if he wanted to keep Talon at _his_ disposal and not the other way around.

Yet another reason Soldier: 76 and The Strike have to go. Reaper would make sure of it this time.

The limited information Sombra had been able to relay to Reaper hadn’t indicated Amari traveling with Morrison. Reaper had enough faith in the hacker to trust she had searched heavily. Reaper hardly spent more than a few minutes pondering their separation. A plethora of reasons could be behind it, none of them important at this point in time. Morrison was alone and sitting around.

_Enough waiting_ , Reaper decided. Five days he had waited since stumbling upon the old man curled in their- _that_ bed. If the plane ticket Sombra supplied was to be believed, Reaper’s time was running short. If Soldier: 76 wasn’t going to make his move, Reaper would take the opportunity to. Pussyfooting wasn’t getting either of them anywhere. It hadn’t in the past, it wouldn’t now.

He waited until nightfall, as he had done the first time five nights prior. He’d wait until the neighboring units turned their lights off for the night and the building fell quiet. The only apartment that held his attention never turned on the lights. With Soldier: 76’s visor, it wasn’t needed and the light would draw unnecessary attention. The apartment had been abandoned for over six years, no need to draw any curious gazes towards it now. After tonight, Reaper was certain that it would remain abandoned indefinitely.

Similar to the first night, Reaper approached the apartment incorporeal, just a cloud of decay and ash. In the darkness, he was nothing more than another shadow, slithering through the building’s dark corners. The front door was unchanged since five days prior and Reaper slipped through the crack along the bottom.

He expected the same scene inside as before: dusty surfaces untouched by time. However, the strong scent of bleach and artificial lemon assaulted his nose as he came to form. A quick scan showed that the old man had been busy the five days he locked himself away.

Every surface had been cleaned and scrubbed down, trinkets and items on each surface carefully dusted and returned to their original locations. In the corner, by the doorway, were a bag of garbage to be removed and a box of empty liquor bottles piled up for recycling. Reaper was beginning to rethink his notion of Jack Morrison being a smart man. Sentimentality had always been Morrison’s Achilles’ heel.

Reaper took a bit more time than his last visit to evaluate his surroundings. They were the same as he remembered, not just from five days ago, but also from six years ago. If Reaper hadn’t been keeping tabs on the old soldier these past couple of days, he would have thought he’d been dumped into the past. Reaper half expected to see Jack, fluffy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, rummaging around the kitchen or see the Strike-Commander throwing off his iconic blue coat on the floor to fall face first into the couch, snagging the blanket thrown over the back and curling around it. Reaper could almost feel the firm chest pressed against his back, forehead and soft hair tickling the back of his neck, strong hands around his waist, could practically hear the rough grumble of, _“About time. I’ve been waiting for you, Gabe-”_

Reaper recoiled violently at the thought, his body threatening to fall apart as his emotions took over. He struggled to regain control, pushing all thoughts out of his mind except _keeping his body together_.

This is why Jack Morr- no, _Soldier: 76_ needed to go. His presence was bringing up memories long ago buried; buried under rubble and ash and lies and deceit and hatred; laid trapped and forgotten underneath the foundation of everything built, left to die alone in Zurich just like Gabriel Reyes had been.

This is why he needed to go. Reaper would spin himself in circles if he let it continue. Spin himself into something human again and that was unacceptable. He was not Gabriel Reyes anymore, he was not human; he was Reaper.

When Reaper was solid enough to continue forward, he moved quickly. Smoke and nanites still buzzed and hissed around him, unsettled by the turmoil Reaper shoved down. It was fine. It always was when episodes of remembrance struck. The best way to deal with it was to reap and that’s just what Reaper planned to do. There was only one soul in this apartment and it belonged to Reaper; by fate and vengeance, by hatred and rage, by love and quiet vows whispered in a small far away chapel-

Reaper let himself fall apart this time; dissolved into nothing more than rage, tearing through the apartment less like a wisp of smoke and more like a torrential storm rolling in. He crashed into the bedroom door and poured through the cracks with such force the old wood creaked, threatening to crack and shatter under the force.

Before Reaper finished solidifying, he could already see this part of the apartment had been left relatively untouched in comparison to the main living area. Dust was still evident on nearly every surface and rather than the smell of cleaning products, he was met with stale air and the sharp stench of alcohol. Bottles littered the floor, though only half of the room was touched.

Just like before the old fool laid in the bed, taking up exactly half and leaving the other half unused, the sheets stubbornly tucked in as they had been six years ago. The only difference was that Reaper could tell the Soldier was awake and waiting.

Reaper lunged immediately, not giving Soldier: 76 time to move and act on whatever he was planning. He may have left his pulse rifle and sidearm in the living room, but the man was still dangerous. Reaper could recall the footage of him at work in Dorado, could remember the way he had moved in the Crisis. He was not to be underestimated, even at his current, pathetic state.

But as Reaper landed on top of him, one gauntlet around his throat, the other holding his shotgun to the man’s forehead, Soldier: 76 made no effort to move, barely even flinching as the weight landed on him. He only turned his head to look up at Reaper; cloudy, milky eyes-

Soldier: 76 wasn’t wearing his visor. Reaper was startled by the revelation and could only wonder _how stupid_ the man beneath him was. He didn’t have long to stew on that thought, not as he looked down at the sightless eyes below him.

Jack Morrison always had a scope, ready with aim-assistance. Reaper had assumed the visor was just an extension of that. He hadn’t realized what laid beneath.

_I’m not the only one who left broken._

The thought should have been a victory, albeit a small one. Reaper thought he’d feel some sort of vindication in the thought that just like him, Jack had lost himself in Zurich, or at least a piece of him. No more bright blue eyes, no more sharp sight, no more handsome, scar-free, picturesque Strike-Commander. Instead, Reaper felt hollow, a pit forming in his gut, a strange emotion clawing at his throat and wanting to crawl out.

A question was on the tip of his tongue, one he swallowed away. He forced his hands to remain strong around the other’s throat, firm on the handle of his weapon.

Soldier: 76— _Jack_ —opened his mouth to speak, but Reaper simply cuffed him with the shotgun, letting the weapon dissolve in a swarm of nanites. A soft noise left the old soldier and that’s when Reaper could smell it.

The stench of alcohol was thick and coated the entire room. It had hit Reaper like a brick wall when he materialized inside, but now that he was here; he could see where it had all gone. It would explain the sluggish movements, the weak responses, the vulnerability.

Jack moved his hand, slow and clumsily, aiming for Reaper’s knee by his hip. Reaper intercepted the movement and Jack’s hand immediately went limp in his grasp, no pulling away, no fighting, just letting it rest encased in Reaper’s, almost like they were holding hands. Reaper couldn’t let that thought linger and settled for pinning the soldier’s wrist down. Jack didn’t struggle, remaining soft and open.

“Welcome home.”

It was slurred, mumbled, almost incoherent, and muffled by the lack of oxygen, but it still rang loudly in Reaper’s ears, a mimicry of words that had been repeated to him years and years ago in this very apartment.

“You're drunk and unarmed. No Ana here to have your back.” It was an observation but it begged a question beneath it. When he got no answer, Reaper sneered, “What kind of game are you playing?”

There was no fight in Jack, his body limp and pliant under Reaper. Despite his strong build and years of hard muscle, the old soldier felt almost delicate under his talons. Reaper adjusted his grip on Jack’s throat, claws digging into the skin and drawing blood. The soldier’s pulse was fluttering under his fingers, like a butterfly trapped in a cage.

“No games, Gab-”

Reaper tightened his grip, choking off the remainder of that word.

“I thought you were smarter than this. Has sentimentality made you this weak?” Reaper shook his head mockingly, though he knew the man below him probably saw nothing. “Pathetic, Jack.”

Reaper had seen the reports, heard the accounts of those that had crossed Soldier: 76 in the past six years. He was nothing like the man lying defeated beneath Reaper. Even with the lack of oxygen and the tightening pressure of Reaper’s hand around his throat, Jack stayed still and lax. Too much trust, even after all this time.

“Not going to fight me?” Reaper seethed. What was the point of this? What was the point of any of this? Why did Jack have to take a walk down memory lane? Why here? Why disturb this resting place? Why awaken the anger that silently bled through the walls from all those years ago?

Unable to answer vocally, Jack gave the barest shake of his head, fingers gently moving in Reaper’s grasp. _No._

A snarl ripped through Reaper’s throat. He shook Jack harder, squeezing tighter until his pale skin took on a sickly hue. The sight of it made Reaper flinch, his hand loosening its hold enough to allow air through.

A hissing wheeze filled the air around them as the old soldier struggled to breathe. Reaper only allowed him a few seconds before pressing forward again, lowering his face until the forehead of his mask just barely brushed against Jack’s.

“Where did all that fight in you go? Left it behind in Giza? Zurich? Giving up?” The words were spilling out of him: anger, pain, rage and hurt pouring out of him like the smoke off his body. His dead heart was pounding violently in his ears. His temper had spiked higher than it had in many years. Seeing Jack this muted only stoked the flames inside Reaper, causing his rage to surge.

Jack’s unseeing eyes slipped shut. Reaper almost throttled him for that until Jack’s mouth opened and words, however quiet they may be, slipped out.

“No fighting, no arguing. Just us.”

Reaper wrenched himself back, his hands leaving Jack’s throat and wrist. For a moment, his form had trouble remaining corporeal, the nanites buzzing loud enough to be hissing in their panic. He slammed his eyes shut, focusing on staying complete and whole. Bitter memories rose up his throat like the smoke in his lungs. He swallowed them down but evidently it wasn’t enough.

When Reaper opened his eyes, there was no sad, pathetic old man lying weak and defeated beneath him. Instead, there was a phantom: blonde hair graying at far too young; sharp, startling blue eyes shining bright and full of mirth; warm, sun-kissed skin with a smattering of freckles and a healthy flush; a devastatingly beautiful mixture of some smile and too many worry lines beginning to form around the creases of the eyes, mouth and forehead; pink and smiling lips. They were forming words, moving. Reaper could hear none of them with the buzzing in his ears roaring like the explosion in Zurich, but he could read the words the man beneath him was saying.

_I missed you, Ga-_

Reaper slammed his hand down over the mouth. The spell lifted immediately: blonde faded to stark white; blue clouded and fogged; warmth drained away to cold and sickly; scars added in addition to the wrinkles; pink turned red as Reaper’s talons drew blood on those thin pale lips. Whether he had actually been speaking or not, it was hard to say. The buzzing inside him was still too loud for Reaper to hear much of anything.

Jack’s body remained loose and calm, a stark contrast to Reaper’s that clicked and hissed, unable to hold his form yet, too tense to budge or move. His own breathing was ragged and gasping; choking, unable to get air. Too many false promises swirled around his mind, smothering him.

“I’m pretending,” Jack murmured, his voice weak and slurred, his lips hardly moving beneath Reaper’s talons. “That’s what we promised each other right? We built this house on lies, Gabriel. Let me live in it a little longer before you put me to rest.”

Reaper had never seen Jack Morrison like this. Even in the most devastating hours of his life, Jack had never been this unresisting, this vulnerable, this defeated and resigned. The man that brawled him in Giza had been scoured by the booze, revealing something Reaper had no idea what to do with, revealing a man he’d never met.

This was not the man that was Reaper’s ruin nor was this the death Jack Morrison deserved. Reaper didn’t want him willing and ready. Reaper _wanted_ the fight, the struggle, to see the regret for _what he had done_. He wanted Jack to beg, to cry, to be out-matched by his own fate. Not this. Not whatever this was. Reaper didn’t know what to do with this, didn’t know how to handle it. This was not a Jack Morrison he recognized, this is not the man he’d known for nearly forty years.

“You are delusional,” Reaper snarled.

Jack opened his mouth to speak again but he would not get the last word. Not this time.

Reaper kept his hand firmly over the other’s mouth, sharp talons pinning his lips together and threatening to tear if he dared to move. Jack settled into the hold, eyes fluttering shut.

Reaper let himself get carried away after that. He had been fighting his body for control for too long and after _whatever the fuck that was_ , he couldn’t hold it together any longer. He collapsed in on himself, his hold on Jack was removed but the other man remained silent and rooted in his spot.

The nagging weight of his shotguns reminded Reaper of why he was there. However, the thought of holding the dual weapons at this point made his body feel even less together than before. He needed to leave, find a quiet place to get himself whole again. Somewhere far, far away from what lay in that cursed apartment.

He left the same way he came, letting his lack of control take over until he was nothing more than a swirling cloud of nanites and too many emotions.

* * *

Reaper didn’t return to the apartment the next morning, not after locking himself in the nearest abandoned Blackwatch hideout to collect himself. Perhaps Reaper had been the naive one in assuming he could deal with his past emotionless, he just hadn’t expected it to ruin him so quickly; hadn’t expected Jack to still be able to knock him off kilter when no one else could.

It didn’t matter. Knowing Morrison, he wouldn’t remember the night or it’d just be a twisted nightmare for him. Reaper would have his chance to deal with Jack properly.

_Third time’s the charm,_ he hissed bitterly to himself.

He had wasted enough time already and his absence had not gone unnoticed. He had several pings requesting his presence and Sombra was getting exceptionally annoying. There would be other times for Reaper to take care of Jack, on his terms. Besides, the old man and Ana had their uses still, however marginal they were. With their own mission into the fall of Overwatch and who was behind it, it meant Reaper had less work. Small mercies then. Sure, The Strike and Soldier: 76 were nuisances to Talon, but their time would come when _Reaper_ decided. Not anyone else.

He wasn’t going to spare _either_ of them anymore time at this point. Not that he could focus on much of anything with Sombra’s _continual_ pinging of his comm. Reaper wasn’t sure what was more annoying: her randomly turning on his comms and interrupting him or the incessant pinging, each tone changing to something more obnoxious than the last. Her chosen notification alert at this hour? Off-key kazoo chimes. Reaper was going to _kill_ her the moment she was within arm’s reach. She was smart enough not to be, but Reaper didn’t care about that.

“What, Sombra?” Reaper hissed, turning on the comm.

_“Finally,”_ the hacker let out a relieved sigh. _“I thought something_ terrible _happened to you!”_ Her exaggerated mock-worry only agitated the wraith more. _“I was worried I’d have to have our dear friend Amelie come and check on you!”_

Reaper froze, processing the words carefully and the underlying threat there. Whether the threat was from Talon or Sombra specifically, Reaper wasn’t sure. A different kind of anger coiled in his gut. This one was cold, sharp, unlike the boiling rage Reaper felt whenever he thought of Jack.

“There is no need for that.” The finality in his tone could have been mistaken for disdain or contempt. The hacker took it a different way.

_“No need to be jealous, Gabrielito,”_ Sombra purred through the comm. _“I know he is yours. Amelie might have a thing for dead husbands, but she draws the line at old men.”_

There were a million things to say, a lot of unpack in those few words. Reaper settled for a simple, “Don’t call me that.”

Sombra laughed, her voice borderline mocking. _“Of course, of course. I only kid.”_

That was debatable.

“What do you want?”

_“Is that any way to talk to a friend? I realize you don’t have many, but I should think you’d be singing my praises. After all, I don’t_ have _to help you. I do it out of the kindness of my heart.”_ Reaper held back his sarcastic snort. _“A little appreciation goes a long way.”_

To punctuate her sentence, Reaper received a chime on his holovid. Looking over to it, he could see the screen lit up with the familiar purple sugar skull motif. It faded away to reveal a file with various documents with several names and locations. A few pictures accompanied the information detailed in the documents.

Sombra spoke as he scanned them. _“This should be enough to keep you busy for a while. None of them were too hard to find. It is almost painfully easy. You’d think they’d try a little bit harder to stay under the radar. Not even the last one with such an obnoxious bounty on his head.”_

Reaper skimmed down to the last name, cocking his head slightly. All the names on the list rang a note of familiarity in Reaper. Undoubtedly, former Blackwatch Commander Gabriel Reyes had encountered them at some point in his long career; however, there were only a few that could rattle emotions in Reaper. He thought he had had his fill of them in Giza. Reaper was mistaken to think time would erase all attachment.

_"He’s close too, just a little ways south of you. Probably could be there in a few days and the world would be down one less hideously dressed cowboy. I’m sure the higher ups wouldn’t mind him disappearing either after the whole train debacle. Want me to send you the route? I figured a scene drive down the coast would be right up your alley-”_

“We’ll start at the top of the list,” Reaper said, though he knew in doing so would ring too many warning bells. It was another secret for the Sombra Collective. She already knew too much, probably knew more than Reaper was even aware of. But, sometimes giving her the information willingly got him closer to his goal. A show of good faith went a long way for the hacker.

There was surely a Cheshire’s grin on her face. _“Oh, Gabi-”_ Reaper let out a low growl at the name _“-very well then. I’ll arrange transport to New Zealand. Better not waste any more time. Vacation is over.”_ As an afterthought, Sombra added, softly, almost _friendly_ , _“If your list of exceptions keeps growing, the wrong people are going to get suspicious.”_

Reaper knew this too well. He was handling it. He didn’t need her interfering more than she already was. As much as the hacker knew about his own personal mission, it was better to keep her at arm’s length. The last time he tried to involve others had, quite literally, blown up in his face. “Anything else?”

_“You better bring me back a souvenir and_ not _another keychain!”_

* * *

Jack could feel Ana’s gaze on him before he could see her. Without the visor, he was legally blind, but he could see enough shapes and shadows—coupled with his other sense—to make his way through the building until he could safely attach the visor without drawing attention.

His disguise was flimsy at best: an old sweater, faded jeans and a baseball cap tipped low to conceal as much of his face as possible. No one paid him a second glance; all anyone saw was a sad, old man. There was no reason for any passerby to look at him and see the deceased Strike-Commander. Only fools looked for and sought out the dead.

He had barely passed through the final security checkpoint and was out into the main waiting area when he felt a firm, small hand on his shoulder.

“Hello, Ana.”

He didn’t turn around to greet her. There was no need as she scooted up beside him and linked their arms together. To anyone else who might look at them, they were just a reunited elderly couple, not ghosts of a bygone era.

“How are you feeling?” Right to the chase, then. Jack half-wondered if Ana would send him right back on that plane if she sensed him anything but fine.

Well, lying it is then.

“Better. I actually slept.” For the most part, that was true. She didn’t need to know how he’d managed to get that rest or what he dreamt of when he did sleep. Jack was certain Ana would disapprove of his methods.

“Good,” she let out a sigh of relief and leaned her head onto his shoulder as she guided them out of the airport. “It’s good to have my partner in crime back.”

“Done with your vacation?” Jack quipped.

Ana let out a soft snort. “No rest for the undead, Jack.”

“Is that what we are?” he asked softly, his mind bringing up a silhouette of vapor and rage. He pushed the thought away as quickly as it had popped up. He had thought enough about Gabriel over the past week and now he needed to put him to rest. _Again,_ his mind unhelpfully supplied.

“We are ghosts, Jack.” Ana spoke, her voice softer than normal, far away. “We are just memories from the past, unable to move forward until the job is done. We can never rest until then. Even after, who knows if we will truly find peace when all is done.”

Neither of them spoke as they drifted out of the airport and walked to the parking lot. Ana led with purpose until she stopped them in front of a car. Carefully, she pulled the duffle bag from Jack’s shoulders and put it in the backseat, letting Jack settle himself in the passenger’s side.

She didn’t speak as she started the car, driving them through the parking garage and out of the airport. Jack reached into the pocket of his sweater, pulling out his visor and attaching it.

He waited for the connectors to link up, wincing at the initial startup. There was always a bit of static before his vision would clear. Annoying, but a rather small price to pay for the sight he had lost.

He turned his gaze to Ana, her eyes on the road, eyebrows knitted together in deep thought. Her body betrayed nothing of her expression as she leaned back casually in the seat and steering with one loose hand on the wheel. He had seen that look on her face a thousand times before. Age and death—however metaphorical it was—didn’t change the way her eyebrows pinched so close together they nearly touched or the firm press of her lips together holding enough pressure to turn them pale. Jack also knew after many years of friendship that Ana was not to be disturbed from her thoughts, not until she sorted, allocated and calculated every possibility.

He turned his attention to the window, giving Ana space. She had her own thoughts to sort out and so did he; thoughts he had adamantly avoided and would be more than fine with avoiding for quite some time.

Unlike Ana’s sleeping formulas, alcohol never gave him a clear head and the line between fiction and reality had blurred so much in that past week Jack had the unfortunate luck of trying to discern what was real and what wasn’t. Even worse, what he _wanted_ to be real.

He could still feel the harsh leather and sharp claws on his neck, squeezing and pressing until he couldn’t breathe. His own hand traveled to his throat to mimic the gesture. Reaper plagued his nightmares and apparently his delusions. Was it wistful thinking that Reaper would seek him out? Restrain him from ending Jack there? To have the cruel imitation of an embrace?

Jack wasn’t sure what to think of that particular delusion. He wanted to think it was only that, but it didn’t explain the taste of blood in his mouth or the faintest of fading bruises on his neck.

Jack pressed his head to the window, letting the smooth glass surface ground him to the present. Whether Jack was truly losing his mind or Reaper had sought him out that night, neither option was welcomed. Neither option could be mentioned to Ana either. He’ll suffer through his madness if he had to. He still had work to do…and if it was true and Reaper had been there, then maybe, _just maybe_ , Gabriel wasn’t that far gone. Somewhere in the center of Jack’s chest, he felt a tad lighter.

All was not gone, Gabriel—however distorted by rage and vengeance—was still there, still alive to some degree. All had been lost without him but now that he was back, _regardless_ of their standing, Jack had to rethink, reevaluate as he always had with Gabriel. He was to always be taken into account. That much was certain. Everything else may be gone and buried in the ashes of Zurich, even their love, but Gabriel was still Gabriel in his core. He had to be. Jack wouldn’t rest until he was certain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! I appreciate all of you for giving this a read <3 Come give me at shout on Tumblr (@noodlegoblin) or twitter (@n00dlegoblin) :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think! <3


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